


The Ghost of Comfort

by allineedisaquill



Series: PatCap Prompts [2]
Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Heart-to-Heart, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, Post-Canon, Post-Episode s02e07 The Ghost of Christmas, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28548270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allineedisaquill/pseuds/allineedisaquill
Summary: It's the early hours following Christmas day, and the Captain can't sleep. Neither can Pat.For my PatCap prompt series. Prompt: "comforting each other"
Relationships: Pat Butcher/The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)
Series: PatCap Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087646
Comments: 13
Kudos: 67





	The Ghost of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hourtohourtohour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hourtohourtohour/gifts).



> I'm taking prompts over on my Tumblr (patcaps) so send one in and I might just write it!

The Captain couldn’t sleep.

Christmas had been eventful, to say the least, and he had enjoyed himself for the most part. The game of Twist-It, singing a carol, spending the day with a full house of both ghosts and guests. He wasn’t receptive to newcomers, not usually, always on high alert - but Alison and Michael’s family were an extension of themselves, and it was Christmas after all, so the Captain made an exception.

The only bit he hadn’t been so keen on was the Queen’s speech. The sight of her posey was still burned in his mind’s eye. 

That wasn’t why he couldn’t sleep, though. No, the Captain found himself filled up with memories and restless as a result. He thought of Christmases long ago, when he was still stationed at Button House with his men. He remembered them singing too, the way he had with Alison and his fellow ghosts, only for him to find them in their beds when he went to check. For the longest time, he’d convinced himself it was nothing, simply the noise of the neighbouring village, but he’d come to realise the truth.

His men had gotten merry - no doubt on stolen wine from the house’s cellar - and they had celebrated without him. Back then, he hadn’t been so lenient when it came to the rules. Back then, he had been a different man.

So much had changed, and the Captain couldn’t sleep.

He drifted downstairs, his stick tight as ever in his grasp, and subtly surveyed the halls as he went. He checked on rooms, on his friends, without disturbing them. It was a force of habit, a task he set himself without anyone ever asking him. He would slip through the house quietly most nights, making sure everything was exactly the way it should be.

To his relief, everyone was sound asleep - everyone except Pat, that was. The man’s bed was empty, and the Captain’s brief relief turned to worry.

The mystery was short-lived when he strolled into the kitchen, however. It was shrouded in darkness except for the moonlight, the open space spilled upon by blue and silver. There Pat sat quietly at the table, hands in his lap.

The Captain paused in the doorway. “Ah, Pat. Surprised to find you still awake.” 

Pat was reliable in so many ways, and as fond of a respectable bedtime as he himself was. Of course, Pat would occasionally enjoy the odd late night, but for the most part you could set a clock by them both, and it was a thought that made the Captain’s chest squeeze with fondness and familiarity.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Pat said simply. He hadn’t looked up as the Captain approached, but he did so then, meeting the Captain’s eyes. He was obviously upset, but he let his eyes roam over his friend slowly. “Why are  _ you  _ up? Everything okay?”

The Captain remained on the spot, twisted his stick in his grasp awkwardly. “Yes, yes, everything’s fine. Just doing a late-night patrol, making sure all’s in order.” He inwardly remarked on how typical it was of Pat, asking after him when he was clearly troubled by his own things. The man was too soft for his own good, but it was a quality the Captain had come to respect slightly more over the years. Softness wasn’t always a weakness, and it certainly didn’t hurt when he was on the receiving end of it.

“Right,” Pat nodded.

“And you?” The Captain couldn’t very well ignore it, not when Pat’s face was practically on the kitchen floor. The night setting did nothing to alleviate the sadness, either, the moonlight making Pat’s features more sunken and sad. “Are you well, Pat?”

Immediately, Pat plastered on a fake smile. He laughed, a hollow sound that made the Captain internally wince. “Me? Yeah, I’m smashing.” He said it as though he wasn’t sitting on his own in the dark at 2:29 am.

The Captain thought back again, to that Christmas at Button House. He thought of his men who had surmised that they couldn’t include their stick-in-the-mud Captain in their celebrations. They ought to have been like a family, all the stronger for their bond, but the Captain had never let himself get that close. He’d remained above it all, kept a distance the way he thought a Captain should (and perhaps for other reasons, too) and they had felt they couldn’t turn to him as a result. They’d excluded him where he should have had a firm place, convinced his leadership would be less effective if he gave in. They hadn’t trusted him the way he wished they had, in hindsight, and could never get that back.

He was still trying to learn not to make the same mistake again.

So he sat down on the chair opposite Pat. “I’m afraid you have many skills, Patrick, but selling me a convincing lie is evidently not one of them.” He levelled a stare at him, eyebrows raised, and calmly set his swagger stick on the table - a visible show that he was at-ease, that Pat could talk to him freely. “Come. Tell me. We’re the only two here, so you might as well get it off your chest.”

Pat looked surprised. His face flickered and his eyes widened a fraction behind his glasses. Then he cleared his throat and looked away again, and if the Captain didn’t know better, he’d swear he saw him blink back actual tears. 

Good Lord, he hadn’t a clue what he was doing, but he had to press on. “Pat?”

“Just...Christmas, you know? Brings back memories. I miss my family.” His sweet voice was thick with emotion.

The Captain hurt to hear it, he noted without a word, but he nodded solemnly.

Pat continued. “This year’s been a nice change, having Alison and Mike around. It was fun. But when the lights are off and everything’s quiet, you just…can’t help but think about it all, can you? What you’ve already missed, what you’re going to keep missing.” He shrugged and stared at his hands, clasped tight as they were in his lap. His thumbs rubbed together. “I should’ve been at home on Christmas day. I should have been at home  _ every _ day, and instead I’m…” He stopped himself short, blinking a few times like he was trying to hold it together. 

“I know,” the Captain told him softly, slowly, as if to steady him.

Pat nodded. He let out a shuddering breath. “...Instead, I’m here. God, don’t get me wrong, Cap, I try and make the best of it,” he said, hands raised briefly. “I know I’m lucky to still have people instead of being out there somewhere, all on my Tod. Most of the time I get on with it. But days like today, the special days...they just hurt a bit more, that’s all.”

The Captain watched Pat closely. He saw the way his hands trembled, just as his lower lip did. He saw the tears gather in his kind, blue eyes. Every bit of it pained him to witness. It pained him the way it had pained him to watch the man die, a visceral reaction that made his hands and body recoil and his face contort in sympathy. He had particularly never enjoyed seeing Pat hurt. Something about it just seemed so decidedly wrong.

He swallowed and steeled his own nerves. “Now, listen to me for a moment if you would, Patrick. I know our stories aren’t the same. We come from different walks of life, but our endings may as well be the same. We  _ died, _ and we had no choice in what we gave up and left behind.” The Captain lowered his eyes, feeling a heat creep across the back of his neck. “I know the feeling, like we left too soon with so much still to do. Every year we see through is another we lost, every anniversary and holiday and chime of the clock. Believe me, I know.”

Pat watched him, his body still but so obviously rapt with interest.

“You still live and breathe, out there. In your son, your grandson, in the memories that will be passed down. In the lads you taught and the things they’ll teach to their own as a result. You left your impression on the world, Pat, the same way you have done with us. I think it would be quite a monstrous task to undo all of that, or indeed to kill it. The truth is that you won’t die for a very,  _ very _ long time. That’s more than can be said for most of us.” He finished the sentence soft and slow, putting it to Pat as gently as he could.

It didn’t matter how gentle the Captain was; Pat’s reaction would have been the same. He stared for a moment longer before his face simply crumpled and he raised a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb that jutted the front of his glasses up. His small body shook with the force of the tears that suddenly flowed thick and fast, unable to stem them any longer. In the end, Pat simply took his glasses off and hooked them onto his pocket before covering his eyes entirely with his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Pat mumbled, despite his inability to stop.

The Captain had his areas of knowledge and the things he was good at, and comforting a friend or loved one had never been high up on those lists. He’d always found himself awkward, a tad out of place, always fighting the urge to remove himself from the situation entirely instead of having to face it. Cowardice, however, was not an option. He was no deserter; he wouldn’t turn on his heel and flee when Pat so clearly needed someone.

Being that he was the only person around - and since he had very likely caused the overflowing emotions - it fell down to him.

He thought of his men again, and he got to his feet without further delay. In a few steps he was standing before Pat where he could crouch until they were level, the cracking of his knees joining the soft sounds of his friend’s crying.

“Don’t apologise,” he told him, sure and steady. “Patrick. Please look at me.”

It took a moment, but Pat slowly wiped his eyes and managed to look. His gaze was still watery and sad, and his lips still trembled, but he did it.

“I’m still dead, Cap. I appreciate what you’re saying, but it doesn’t make the pain go away. How has it  _ still _ not gone away? It’s been years,” he said with a sniff.

The Captain’s smile was knowing and regretful. “I don’t think it ever does, if I’m honest. We just have to keep going, and perhaps if we can do something with the time we have here, it won’t all be for nothing.” 

Pat searched his eyes. “D’you really believe that?”

“Of course,” the Captain said, but he followed it with a shrug. “We believe what we must, don’t we? Now for Heaven’s sakes, come here.” 

He had never hugged Pat before that moment. He had never hugged any of them, in fact. It wasn’t bad at all, the Captain found, especially when Pat held him tight and pressed his face to his shoulder. It was quite enjoyable, despite the circumstances. He drew one palm slow and careful up and down Pat’s back, an act he hoped was soothing, and he talked. He talked because he didn’t know how to handle the silence otherwise.

“Take today as an example: Alison bought that game of Twist-It for you, but you shared it with us. Your first thought wasn’t to play it yourself, but how best to include others. You’re always doing that, and I reckon we’d all be a little lost without it.” It was scarily honest, but the Captain knew it needed to be said. It was easier when Pat couldn’t see his face as he said it.

Pat sniffed again and drew back, wiping a hand beneath his eyes before returning his glasses to his face. “It’s Twister, you daft sod, not Twist-It,” he corrected him warmly, even as his voice wobbled a bit. He sobered quickly, meeting the Captain with a brave smile. “Thank you. I try, I really do. Anything to make the days more bearable and to stop them from losing their marbles. To stop myself, too.”

“I was around before you were, so I know what they were like before you came along with your clubs and your activities. Trust me when I say it’s worked wonders,” the Captain said dramatically, his lips stretched into a smile.

“Well,” Pat said, tapping a hand lightly against the Captain’s arm. “Someone had to come and give you a break, didn’t they?”

“They did,” the Captain agreed, deliberately ignoring the warmth that spread throughout him from the one spot Pat had touched. He finally stood again, letting out a small groan as his joints protested. He snagged his stick from the table top and nodded down at Pat. He remembered their exchange weeks before, remembered telling Pat that it was good to have him back on the team. He had never been more glad that they’d healed the brief rift between them. “Now, off to bed. It’s quite late enough, and it’s been a long day.”

Pat hopped up from his seat with a sheepish smile, but he seemed genuinely brighter already. He had a good knack of bouncing back. The Captain followed behind him up the stairs with a fond smile.

Without ever knowing it, Pat had done something to ease the Captain’s own difficult night, and when sleep finally found him, it found him better than it had in months.


End file.
